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University of Virginia Library

Poems Divine, and Humane

By Thomas Beedome

Beedome, Thomas

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On the deceased Authour, Master Thomas Beedom, and his Poems.

On the death and Poems, of his most deare friend, Master Thomas Beedome.

On his deserving Friend, Master Thomas Beedom, and his Poems.

To his Friend the Author, Master Thomas Beedom before his death, on these his Poems.

To the Memory of his Ingenious friend, Master Thomas Beedom, and on these his Poems.

To the Memorie of his friend, Master Thomas Beedom. And upon his Poems.

On the Poems of his worthy friend, Master Thomas Beedom, the lately deceased Author.

On the Memory of his most Ingenious friend, Master Thomas Beedome, and his Poems.

Elegie, on his Ingenious friend, the deserving Author, Master Thomas Beedome.

Elegie on the death of his ingenious friend, the deserving Author, Master Thomas Beedome.

On the Poems of the Author, his deare Brother, Master Thomas Beedom deceased.

THE Author, To the READER.

THE JEALOVS LOUER, OR, THE CONSTANT MAID.

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To his Mistresse, when shee was going into the Country.

To his Mistresse on her scorne.

The Question and Answer.

The new Petition.

Fooles Paradise, or Reason Bewitcht.

Loves Apostacy to his friend Mr. E. D.

The broken heart song.

Women are mens shadowes.

Women are not mens shadowes.

To his worthy friend Mistresse.

On a Lillie now withered in her bosome.

An Elegie on the death of his loving friend. J: C

My sonne give mee thy heart.

[VVhen first of sinne I tooke survey]

The Inquisition.

The Resurrection.

The Mercy Seate.

Ad punctum mortis.

On the death of Mris. M. T.

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The Resurrection.

Is no time certaine when or how, yet must
Some certaine time determine I am dust?
Must these full bones, and swelling veines appeare
Saplesse and dry, as when the falling yeare
Exhaustes the humour from the verdant bough,
Which did greene liveries to the leaves allow?
And must it be from my decay resolv'd,
That my whole fabricke once must be dissolv'd?
'Tis true my soule, 'tis so: yet let no care
Drive any anxious thought how thou shalt feare.
There is a rich preservative for thee,
Above all balsome, call'd fidelity,
And when my Masse of congregated clay,
Shall in Earths Vineyard labour out the day,
The penny shall be thine: and he that can
From Rockes and Stones, raise seed to Abraham,
Shall raise thy dissipated dust: and glew
Thee in coherence, with thy corpes anew.
Strange miracle! yet Lazarus can tell,
This Paradox in him, found paralell.
I doe beleeve it Lord: Oh! let me be,
As happy to enjoy my faith as he.

T. B.